


Original Track Insomniac

by autoschediastic



Series: Original Track [1]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Barebacking, Insomnia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-10
Updated: 2011-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoschediastic/pseuds/autoschediastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess you don't mean leave it in like avoid the money shot leave it in," Adam says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Original Track Insomniac

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fairfax_verde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairfax_verde/gifts).



With almost two days between Tommy and the last bed he met, it's not the brightest idea to be stumbling through a dark house with Adam hot on his heels, hands at his waist and mouth at his neck. The smidgen of moonlight filtering in through their bedroom window isn't helping much either, and Tommy misjudges the distance from the door to the bed. His knees bang into the bed frame and he spits, "Fuck," as he goes down, caught on the palms of his hands with Adam grinding against his ass.

"Y'okay?" Adam asks, almost lost in a laugh.

"I'm so fucking good." Tommy tears at the bedclothes, dragging them down in a haphazard heap so he can crawl onto the mattress, drop to his elbows. Adam jerks so hard on his fly he loses his balance, ends up sprawled halfway on his belly, but he scrambles up, yanks off his shirt. "Are you fucking naked yet?"

"Getting there," Adam says, accompanied by the satisfying thump of clothes hitting the carpet. He gets Tommy's jeans hauled down to the knees and Tommy lifts up, kicks a bit when Adam doesn't skin them off fast enough. "Jesus, Tommy."

Tommy says, "Sorry," without a single ounce of sincerity behind it. They shouldn't be at this shit. Transatlantic flights _suck_. What they both need is a hot shower to wash off the stink of recycled air and stale airplane coffee, and about fifteen hours of real sleep. At this point, Tommy would happily take two of shitty sleep. He's burning up beneath the overtired clammy chill settled on his skin. His hands fist roughly in the bedsheets as Adam's bare cock rides the crack of his ass. "Oh, fuck yeah, quick and dirty, c'mon."

"Lube," Adam insists, both hands planted on the backs of Tommy's thighs to scoot him further onto the bed.

Tommy flails for the nightstand. Managing to hook two fingertips over the edge, he claws it open, fishing around for one of the half a dozen bottles rolling around in there. He digs one out, squints at it to make sure it's not that warming shit, and dumps some out on his fingers before tossing it back to Adam. They've been at this for long enough, and Tommy wants it bad enough, that he goes straight for two fingers shoved up his ass. Breath rattles in his chest on a long exhale at the sharp ache. Maybe he got a little carried away after all.

At the sound of Adam's strangled groan, the wet slap of Adam quickly slicking up, Tommy reconsiders. Two is fucking _perfect_. Adam's cockhead nudges up hot against his fingers and Tommy spreads them wide, fighting the clench of muscle to let Adam's cock slip between them. He's got months and months of fucking Adam literally under his belt but this part, where Adam's dick is lodged just inside his asshole and he doesn't know if it'd feel better to push it out or let it in, hasn't gotten any easier. But it's gotten so much fucking better. He _loves_ it. Sometimes he tightens up to make the burn spike, hear Adam's frustrated groan. Sometimes, like right the hell now, he goes loose and pliant in the split-second afterward so Adam's cock slides on in and the timbre of Adam's groan slips from tortured to so fucking grateful, like there's nowhere he'd rather be except here in the dark buried to the fucking balls in Tommy's body.

Draped heavily over Tommy's back, Adam tangles the fingers of one hand with Tommy's. A brief squeeze asks if he's ready. He squeezes back, the same white lie he's been telling Adam forever, because he's never fucking ready for this. Getting fucked is one of those things he doesn't believe anybody's really _ready_ for. Handjobs he's got, blowjobs he's fucking mastered, but the sweet ache of being fucked by Adam absolutely destroys him every god damn time. He can't breathe past that too-full feeling, how Adam covers him completely, bears him down into the bed, the way Adam's dick drags inside him taking him apart piece by fucking piece until he's moaning and squirming on it, and Adam gathers him closer, brings them the rest of the way down onto the bed on their sides. Curling halfway onto his front, Tommy hitches his knee up, dazed and uncoordinated as Adam fucks back into him, fists his cock hard and slow until the sluggish tide of orgasm rises up to drag him under. The post-coital crash hits him long before he gets his breath back, and by the time Adam comes a handful of minutes later, he's barely with it. His last thought before he blanks completely is to how much hell he's going to get in the morning for passing out with Adam inside him, but it feels good, slippery-wet and thick, hot, and he so doesn't give a flying fuck.

Five hours later, Tommy wakes to not as much mess as he'd figured, the sheets tugged up over them, and Adam out cold. He wiggles back beneath Adam's arm, tucking himself into the warm curve of Adam's body, his ass nestled snugly against Adam's cock. A snuffle in his hair is Adam's contribution. Agreeing wholeheartedly, Tommy closes his eyes and hopes for at least another hour of sleep.

He doesn't get it, but there are worse ways to kill the time to morning than by drifting lazily in Adam's arms.

*

There are about four hundred and thirty two things Tommy would rather do than get all gussied up to trot down a red carpet. At least three of them involve hot pokers. Every time Adam's got some big event to go to, though, he dutifully invites Tommy and smiles happily when he declines, like Tommy being consistently Tommy is ten times better than a boyfriend who wants to be paraded through a gauntlet of microphones and blinding camera flashes.

The Friday after they're back from running European promo for the second album, Tommy does the whole wardrobe thing with Adam and his stylist, mostly hanging around while they hash shit out in Adam's fuck-off giant walk-in and giving a thumbs up where appropriate or a dirty, innuendo-laden suggestion where it isn't.

Inevitably, Adam ends up running late. Tommy makes him even later by trapping him in the front hall and macking on him for ten whole minutes, and Adam rushes off with a handful of cosmetics to fix his face. For the most part, when Tommy catches him on television that night, or even later on during the week on a stream, he doesn't look like he ran out the door and dive-bombed into a car seconds from being ravaged. Tommy's favourite shots are the ones that show how he doesn't quite get that look out of his eyes, though, and Tommy chews on his lip, thinks about sending Adam out next time with a fresh hickey on his throat. Let him try to cover that up and keep the blogosphere from imploding.

Half past two in the morning, halfway through Tommy's fifth episode of _Weeds_ , Adam thumps in through the front door. Tommy grins, listening to him bitch randomly to the potted palm about locked doors being unlocked when they should be locked.

"Coded gate," Tommy calls, rolling off the couch to kill the television. Swinging around the coffee table to trot through the darkened living room, he meets Adam at the base of the curved staircase. Adam's eyes are glassy, his hair a tousled mess, and his smile's so wide it makes Tommy's cheeks ache. He's gorgeous. And all fucking Tommy's, and Tommy isn't a crazy possessive asshole or anything, but he gets such a thrill in his gut at the thought that he slings his arms around Adam's neck, cosies in close for kisses.

"Tommy," Adam says, drunk-happy and a little sloppy as he crowds Tommy up against the banister. "So much fun. So much _booze_." He nuzzles up under Tommy's jaw, tiny nipping kisses, and his hands slide down, big and wide cupping Tommy's ass, lifting him up into the hard heat of Adam's dick. "So fucking glad you're up."

"Oh yeah?" Edging closer to the stair, Tommy hooks a hand in Adam's big shiny rock star belt buckle. "Looks like I'm not the only one."

Adam glances down at the thick bulge trapped in his jeans. One foot on the stair, he palms it unselfconsciously, genuine pleasure fluttering his eyelashes. "Somebody got me a limo home. Couldn't stop thinking about you. Wanted to spread you out on that big leather seat, fuck you so hard I'd have to carry you up to bed."

"You are way too drunk to carry me anywhere," Tommy says, leading Adam by his belt up one step after the other into their bedroom, turning on the overhead light with his palm slapped onto the switch. "You can totally fuck me, though. Since you brought home that boner for me and all."

Dark and gleeful, Adam says, "So gonna fuck you," and scoops Tommy up to dump him flat on his back on the bed. Tommy's almost chokes laughing as Adam climbs on up, greedy hands everywhere at once stripping Tommy out of one of Adam's old tees and a pair of sweats, and Tommy wriggles around, clambering up on his knees to grab some supplies while Adam yanks off his socks. When Tommy turns back to flop down, Adam's mostly naked too, jacket and shirt lost, jeans caught around his knees. "Gonna fuck you so good."

"So come the fuck on," Tommy says, letting loose with a startled whoop and a laugh when Adam grabs his hips, flips him back onto his belly. Brushfire heat sweeps out from Tommy's core, a flush stealing over his chest, creeping up his neck. He bitches about Adam flinging him around sometimes, but he fucking _loves_ it, that Adam can do it, that Adam _wants_ to do it, wants him so much Adam can't hang on one fucking second to ask him to roll over. Getting his knees under him, he smacks his ass in invitation, earning a breathless, eager noise caught halfway between a groan and a laugh from Adam and a couple slick fingers pushing up inside him. "S'good enough," Tommy says, knees skidding wider, "fucked me like twice today, c'mon and put it in me already."

Hands hooked in the bend of Tommy's body between thighs and hips, Adam lines up, sinks in quick and shocking. Tommy shudders, scrabbling at the bedsheets for something to hold on to, and grunts when Adam's weight comes down on him, laying him out flat as Adam's grip on his thighs tightens, jerking his legs out from under him.

"Stretch out for me, baby," Adam says, flat of his hand running up Tommy's side, pushing his arm up, "that's it, come on, all the way," and he grinds in slow, little almost-fucks that go so deep Tommy's fucking bones ache with how good it is. Lifting up enough to worm a hand down, Tommy takes hold of his cock and jacks it lazily as Adam ruts into him, hazy warm pleasure building way down low sweet and thick. Adam bites at his shoulder, kisses the back of his neck, a possessive sweep of hands everywhere Adam can reach that do almost as much in getting Tommy off as the slick stuttering drag of Adam's dick in his ass. Cheek pressed to the sheets, Tommy comes, fingers cupped carefully around the head of his cock to keep the mess from spilling onto the bed.

Adam's almost there, his drunken, heartfelt praises for Tommy's sweet ass stumbling one over the other, so Tommy says, "C'mon, rock star, give it up, wanna mess me up, get me all wet, fuck your come into me," and Adam makes this broken noise and comes like Tommy's got a backdoor to his brain, fingers on his buttons. Adam fucks him all through it, wet obscene squelch as Adam nearly pulls all the way out, drives back in, does exactly what Tommy told him to do and smears his come all over Tommy's insides as deep as he can go. Stretching out with a satisfied sigh, idly rubbing one foot against Adam's thigh and palm carefully curled up around a puddle of cooling come, Tommy lets him go to town.

Muscle by muscle, Adam goes lax. He nuzzles at the hinge of Tommy's jaw, aiming for a kiss. "I fucking love you," he says, slurring it into Tommy's mouth, "fucking love you so fucking much, baby, you're so good to me," and Tommy laughing, smearing cold come onto his thigh doesn't derail him at all. He doesn't even notice, snuggling down, smushing Tommy into the mattress, and Tommy laughs again, elbows him gently in the ribs.

Adam doesn't move.

"Can't breathe," Tommy lies, the usual surefire way to get Adam scrambling up. "Adam?"

Nothing. Not even a snuffle. Adam fucking _passed out on him_.

Through a disbelieving laugh, Tommy says, "Oh shit," because Adam is fucking heavy when he's out cold, and Tommy hasn't exactly got much in the way of leverage stretched out like he is. Wriggling around is getting him fucking nowhere fast. His laughter dissolves to breathless hiccups as he drops his face to the sheets, his lungs squeezed tight, ribs creaking, and it's not like he's actually going to suffocate but it's not exactly comfortable.

Except for how it sort of bizarrely is, warm and weirdly safe with Adam between him and the world. All his shuffling around hasn't even managed to dislodge Adam's fucking cock, still semi-hard inside him. Gulping a stale breath, he clenches up and jostles his hips, hoping overstimulated nerves will get through to Adam where he can't, but he's the one who ends up gasping, shuddering at the zing of not-pleasure, not-pain that goes through him. That heavy, full-up feeling comes creeping back in its wake, sluggishly dragging Tommy down. He tries to fight it, thinking about the mess this is going to be if he drifts off. It feels so wonderful when his eyes slip shut, though, and then he's out.

In the morning, Adam waffles between finding the whole thing hilarious and being absolutely fucking horrified with himself, because, "Oh my god, Tommy Joe, _who does that?_ " But it's not like Tommy didn't have an awesome time, and he got six hours uninterrupted sleep out of the deal which is glorious and amazing, and, "Seriously," he tells Adam over mimosas and the breakfast burritos Adam is adamant he won't touch but eyeballs longingly and will end up eating anyway, "like I actually give a shit."

"I guess," Adam says doubtfully, snagging the last bite of a burrito off Tommy's plate.

By the time he blows Tommy in the shower, he's over it.

*

"Jesus, Jesus, motherfucking douchebag _cocksucker_!" Disgusted, _Game Over_ blaring at him from the television, Tommy flings the controller aside. Hunched over, he digs his knuckles into his burning eyes. "Fucking piece of shit-eating plastic."

"Baby," Adam says from the other end of the couch where he's curled up reading, and picks the controller up off the floor to set it onto the coffee table beside his book. "Maybe you should take something."

"It doesn't work, you know it doesn't fucking work," Tommy snaps. He aches everywhere. He can't focus. He can't even fucking _think_. Two weeks and he's gotten maybe, _maybe_ , ten hours of sleep. It's fucking killing him, and he knows it's killing Adam, and if something doesn't knock him out cold soon he might actually turn into a raving lunatic streaking through streets foaming at the mouth. Fisting both hands in his hair, he squeezes his eyes shut, exhales slowly before opening them again. "Sorry. That was so fucking bitchy. I'm sorry."

The couch cushions dip as Adam knee-walks over to drape an arm around his shoulders, gather him in close. "Free pass, remember? It's okay."

Tommy collapses into Adam's heat. "It's really not. I just want to _sleep_. So bad."

"I know." A warm kiss pressed to Tommy's temple hits him with the simultaneous urge to break the fuck out of shit and start wailing like an abandoned baby. "I hate that there's nothing I can do."

Frustrated beyond belief, Tommy shoves Adam back. There's a split second of shock on Adam's face, completely warranted because Tommy never, _ever_ pushes Adam away, not like this. The best Tommy's got to offer for an explanation is, "Just, just fucking," which isn't an explanation at all, but he's clambering into Adam's lap, grabbing onto his face to drag him into a violent kiss more teeth than anything. A relieved shiver goes through him when Adam gets it, scooting around and rolling over to pin him down, taking over.

"Want me to try wearing you out again?" Adam asks between bites aimed at his bottom lip.

"Yeah," Tommy says, squirming around to see if Adam's interested beyond the making out, and _yeah_ , there it is, Adam's cock getting into it. More kisses steal Tommy's window for talking, Adam moving fast to get inside his clothes like the sooner he gets Tommy on his dick, the sooner he'll have his mellow, easy-going guy back. Adam doesn't resent him when he gets strung-out and snappy with lack of sleep, but neither of them like it.

"But like," Tommy tries, lifting his arms as Adam yanks off his shirt, big hands splaying warm and wide across his chest, "leave it in this time."

For a minute there, Tommy doesn't think Adam's heard and he'll have to repeat it, but Adam slows, gives him a steady, level look. "Leave it in?"

"Yeah, like." Tommy huffs, reluctantly sitting up when Adam pulls on his arm. "Your dick."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess you don't mean leave it in like avoid the money shot leave it in," Adam says, scooting off the couch to haul Tommy to his feet.

Standing up fucking sucks. Tommy sways, grabbing at the crook of Adam's elbow until he gets what's left of his equilibrium back. "I'm fucking desperate, okay," Tommy says without bite. "Seriously fucking desperate. And the last time I slept really, really good was when you, y'know. Flaked out on me."

Confusion darkens Adam's face, then clears to chagrined understanding. "You had to bring that up."

"C'mon, it wasn't bad, just funny," Tommy says, taking over leading the way upstairs. "And kinda hot." He lets his gaze drop. "I like your big gorgeous dick any way I can get it."

Adam mutters, "Sweet-talker," not completely on board with the whacked-out plan but not calling the whole thing off on account of Tommy's sleep-deprived crazy. Or shoving more useless sleeping pills down Tommy's throat. "I really think that was a fluke," he says as Tommy starts unbuttoning his jeans in the hall.

"Maybe," Tommy hedges, "maybe not. Could be I'm a total cockwhore freak and I need your dick up my ass so bad I can't sleep without it."

"That's not hot," Adam says, but the dark flare of lust in his eyes pins him as a total liar. He picks up stripping off as Tommy heads for the bed, hauling the sheets down and skinning out of his own clothes as fast as he can. "Fuck, it's really hot."

"Yeah it is," Tommy breathes, jacking his cock a couple times, watching Adam cross the room in a few strong strides, smooth and confident as all fuck in nothing but skin and freckles. "You wanna watch me pass out on your cock 'cause it's so good I can't take it."

Adam growls something that maybe started out as a word and then he's tumbling Tommy to the bed, bouncing a bit as they hit the mattress hard. As Tommy paws out of his hold, aiming to go belly down, Adam says, "Little spoon, baby."

"Fuck, okay, yeah," Tommy says, rolling back onto his side, curling up with his head on a pillow as Adam scoots in close behind him, miles of skin-to-skin with lube-slick fingers pushing between his legs, up into the crack of his ass. Tingling anticipation coils through the sleepless haze muting Tommy's senses. "Gonna do me all sweet and slow, tell me you love me?"

Adam's answer is a press of fingers at Tommy's hole. As dragged out as Tommy is, he figured it would be easy for him to let Adam in, but he's tense, muscles tight and thrumming, and Adam's got to work him open with gentle, firm pressure, kissing his throat as he loosens up. The wait threatens to ruin all Adam's hard work, though, Tommy's frustration mounting, and Adam says, "Easy, sweetheart, stay with me."

"Give you sweetheart," Tommy mutters, no heat to it as he twists around, offers up his mouth. Instead of a kiss he gets Adam's slanted bedroom smile, then the blunt head of Adam's cock taking the place of fingers. There's no hesitation before Adam's pushing up and in, a steady, delicious drag of bare skin so fucking good Tommy closes his eyes, moans out a breath. He's trembling by the time Adam bottoms out, more anticipation than anything. Even exhausted and bitchy, he loves this, won't ever get tired of it.

Adam gathers Tommy's arms to his chest, pins Tommy to his own with an arm wrapped around him as Adam's other hand trails down over his side to his hip then his thigh. Hiking up his knee to open Tommy up, Adam asks, "Ready, baby?"

Tommy barely gets out the first syllable of a yes before Adam fucks into him. Really fucking _fucks_ into him, a quick, rough snap that drives all the air out of his lungs. He jerks an arm out of Adam's hold without thinking, looking for something solid and unbruisable to grip, but Adam grabs at his wrist, slaps his arm right back where it was.

"You hold onto me," Adam whispers, soft at Tommy's ear, "you need something, you hold onto me," and fucks in again, shoves another stumbling yes straight out of him.

There's nothing for Tommy to do but what Adam says and take what Adam gives, no leverage while he's crushed to Adam's chest, his knee hiked up and pinned. He's never gone for being the sort of fuck that just takes shit, doesn't participate; he wants to get his hands all over Adam, ruin this slow-drag, pause- _slam_ rhythm Adam's working. But fuck if it doesn't feel incredible. His whole body winds up tight on the friction as Adam's dick drags almost all the way free, all that tension pounded out of him as Adam bottoms out with a smack, and then it starts all over again leaving him dizzied, eyes squeezed shut and mouth wide open on a spill of helpless-sounding noises he isn't even trying to hold back. Somewhere in there, Adam gets a hand on his cock, jerks him off, and honest to fuck, no fucking joke, Tommy barely notices the orgasm that slaps him in the face, rocks him back onto Adam's dick. Every last scrap of his shredded focus is on Adam, breath caught and held waiting for Adam to come, fill him up and stay buried deep. He's craving it, full-on junkie jitters starting up in the pit of his stomach and skittering outward, messing him up even worse.

Then those jitters are loosening his tongue, forming sloppy words he's not sure make it all the way out of his mouth to Adam's ears. If they do or not doesn't matter. Adam's already on it, rhythm gone all to hell as he gives in, slams it home. And Tommy _still_ can't fucking move, pinned by Adam and his own exhaustion, short nails clawing into Adam's forearm as Adam finally fucking comes in him so deep he's sure he can feel it even though he knows he can't. That's his heartbeat thundering in his ears, his and Adam's.

Adam's hold eases up. Wrung out and limp as a fucking overcooked noodle, Tommy's got nothing left as Adam's hand slides down to splay low on his belly, tugging him back to keep him firmly seated on Adam's cock. He clenches tight to feel Adam inside him, slick and slowly softening.

With a groan, Adam says, "Fuck, baby, careful," but doesn't shy away when Tommy can't help doing it again, all the frenetic, sleepless energy that's been driving him crazy night after night bleeding out on a sigh.

Tommy barely manges, "Sorry," and, "Adam, fuck, so good," before the blissful black rises up to drag him down. Cradled by Adam's warmth inside and out, he sleeps.


End file.
